


nothing beats threes

by doingthemost, singsongsung



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Cabaret Rehearsals, F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doingthemost/pseuds/doingthemost, https://archiveofourown.org/users/singsongsung/pseuds/singsongsung
Summary: “Listen,” Twyla says. She tugs at the cuffs of the sleeves of her cardigan. “If you’re really worried, I could help you.”“Help me?”“Help you practice.” Twyla looks at her like it’s obvious. “Kissing.”WhenCabaretrehearsals cause Stevie to doubt her on-stage kissing skills, Twyla and Alexis take it upon themselves to boost her confidence.
Relationships: Alexis Rose/Twyla Sands, Stevie Budd/Alexis Rose, Stevie Budd/Alexis Rose/Twyla Sands, Stevie Budd/Twyla Sands
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45
Collections: Sexy Cabaret Feelings





	nothing beats threes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Januarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Januarium/gifts).



> The happiest of birthday wishes to Januarium!! We hope you enjoy this fic. ♥♥
> 
> Title from "Two Ladies."

“ _Desire!_ ”

Stevie breaks away from Adam, taking a step back to put some solid space between their bodies, and murmurs, “Oh, my god,” as she presses the back of her hand against her mouth. Adam really needs to invest in some fucking chapstick.

“Stevie,” Moira continues, moving closer to the taped-off ‘stage’ space in the town hall. Her dress has some kind of cape attachment, and it swirls behind her, further emphasizing her plaintive tone. “Stevie, where is the _libidinous avidity_?”

“I… don’t know,” Stevie says honestly. 

“Where,” Moira continues, pacing now and giving Adam a chiding look, “is the _intimacy_?”

Stevie chances a glance at everyone else, fighting against her embarrassment, utterly unwilling to be caught blushing. The rest of the cast is sitting on chairs placed at random throughout the town hall, scripts open on their laps, bearing witness to the repeated rehearsals of Stevie and Adam’s quote-unquote _passionate embrace_ at the end of ‘Perfectly Marvelous.’ Ronnie is reading a paperback instead of her script. Bob is watching Moira and nodding along with everything she says. Patrick is on his phone - probably texting David updates, the traitor - as is Alexis, who has stretched herself out over three chairs, phone held aloft over her head, the ends of her hair nearly touching the floor.

The only person actively looking at Stevie is Twyla, her face illuminated with a warm, encouraging smile, and her eyes beaming out sympathy. When their gazes catch, Twyla smiles even harder. Stevie’s surprised that she doesn’t offer a literal thumbs-up.

“Maybe we just need more practice?” Adam suggests, his eyes darting between Stevie and Moira.

Their director stops her pacing, her lips pursed disapprovingly. “Surely,” she says, “both of you know how to osculate?”

Stevie can only assume that _osculate_ means _kiss_ in Mrs. Rose’s unique brand of the English language, and - yeah. She does. Or at least, she thought that she did. Stevie’s standard move when she’s drunk at a tailgate is to make out with someone, and she’s never been self-conscious about other people observing that habit. But this is different, and not just because she’s sober, but because she’s doing it on stage, in front of an audience, in a choreographed way that is supposed to convey some degree of passion. Every time Moira yells _concupiscence!_ , Stevie grows more and more convinced that she has no idea how to kiss at all.

“It’s seven-thirty,” Alexis says in a lazy drawl, saving Stevie’s whole night.

“Alexis,” Moira sighs, whirling again. “Mummy doesn’t need a living chronograph.”

But Ronnie’s already on her feet, saying, “See you all on Friday,” and offering Stevie a little salute. Patrick gets up, too, and sticks his hands in his pockets, waiting for Stevie to leave the ‘stage.’ She waves her hand at him, a shooing motion; she’s not in the mood to recount this rehearsal to David, not even with a joint in her hand, nor is she up for eating dinner with the two of them and watching David get soft-eyed when Patrick lets him have the final mozzarella stick.

Patrick’s pale eyebrows draw together, a silent _you sure?_ Stevie nods impatiently, and throws him a half-smile too, which seems to be enough to get him moving.

Everyone else slowly clears out of the town hall, except Alexis, who’s still lying across the chairs, typing away on her phone; Twyla, who is now chatting with Moira; and Adam, who is still sort of hovering near Stevie with a somewhat nervous expression on his face. She lifts a brow at him, and he gives her a sort of defeated nod.

“We’ll get it,” he says, entirely unconvincingly. Stevie hates how it sounds like they’re trying to achieve something remarkable, like sending goats to Mars, not just managing to competently smush their mouths together.

Still, she says, “Yeah,” because despite his unmoisturized lips, she thinks their lack of kissing success probably falls onto her shoulders much more heavily than it does onto Adam’s.

“We will return on Friday refreshed,” Moira declares, clearly meaning _Stevie_ when she says _we_. “Let’s rest our vocal chords, rest our mouths, hydrate…”

“Yes, Mrs. Rose,” Stevie says, nodding.

Moira smiles, apparently having forgiven Stevie for her inadequately lustful embrace of Adam. “I’ll send you that treatise on the validity of yawn-sighing in preparation for sprechstimme,” she says on her way toward the doors, giving her fingers a delicate wiggle in the air as she strides out of the building.

Stevie sighs, shakes out her hair, tries to relax her shoulders, and wipes her sweaty palms against her jeans. When she looks up, Twyla is standing about a foot away, head tilted in a way that Stevie understands, from years and years of knowing Twyla, indicates compassion.

“I think you’re doing a really good job,” Twyla says. Her body rocks forward slightly, weight shifted onto her toes, as though the sincerity of her words is pulling her closer to Stevie.

“And I think you’re a really bad liar,” Stevie replies, but there’s no real heat in her words. She’s mad at herself, not at Twyla.

“No, really,” Twyla protests, stepping closer. “You’re great as Sally.”

Stevie sighs yet again. “Thanks, Twyla.”

Twyla’s brow creases, and one corner of her mouth pulls to the side. “You don’t believe me.”

Waving a hand at the ‘stage’ space, Stevie asks, “Did you not see what just happened here?”

Twyla shakes her head. “I think you’re just a little nervous. It’ll get more comfortable.”

Stevie wraps her arms around herself, pulling her open flannel shirt against her body more tightly. To the floor, she says, “I’m beginning to think I don’t even know how to kiss.”

“Stevie,” Twyla tsks. She laughs, but it’s a warm sound, free of judgment. “You know how to kiss. You’re a great kisser.”

Eyes darting back up to Twyla’s face, Stevie blinks. For all the times - fumbling, semi-sober, restless, craving - that she made out with Twyla in high school, for all the times they’ve ended up under the same blanket by a bonfire and Stevie’s tasted Coors Light on Twyla’s tongue, they’ve never exactly _talked_ about it. But Twyla’s looking at her, face open and honest, as if bringing this up is perfectly natural.

“Um,” Stevie says. “Thanks. You too,” she adds, and then cringes a little.

But Twyla just smiles. “Thank you, Stevie,” she says, with a funnily formal pitch to her words.

Stevie pushes a hand through her hair, rubs at the back of her neck, and then shoves both hands into her pockets. “It’s been… a while, though.” And she’s not just talking about kissing Twyla, she realizes. It’s been a while since they’ve done a lot of the things they used to do together: smoking weed, going to movies at the drive-in outside Thornridge, drinking hot chocolate or root beer floats at the café after closing while the dirty dishes lay waiting and the floors stayed unmopped.

“That doesn’t matter,” Twyla says. Her eyes are so focused on Stevie’s, like she can tell exactly what Stevie is thinking. “I know you. You know?”

Lips twitching up into a smile, Stevie nods. “I know.” She has the weirdest, fiercest desire to hug Twyla, to apologize for being grumpy about work and busy with David and for always having had these sharp edges that Twyla sands down without complaint.

“Listen,” Twyla says. She tugs at the cuffs of the sleeves of her cardigan. “If you’re _really_ worried, I could help you.”

“Help me?”

“Help you practice.” Twyla looks at her like it’s obvious. “Kissing.”

“Help me practice kissing,” Stevie repeats, an incredulous note in her voice.

“Yeah.” Twyla reaches out and fingers a lock of Stevie’s hair with a startling sort of seductive confidence. _Who taught you that?_ Stevie finds herself thinking, feeling the way her eyes are growing wider in her face. “I think you’re just in your head about it. So maybe it would help to try it without the pressure of doing it with Adam while Mrs. Rose is watching.”

“With you.”

Twyla smiles her shiny smile. “With me. It’s not like it’s new, the two of us.”

“The _two_ of you?”

Stevie’s whole body jolts in surprise at the sound of Alexis’ voice. Without her noticing, Alexis has stepped into the mocked-up stage space - without putting away all the chairs she was lying on, of course - and is now looking at both Stevie and Twyla with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Stevie inches backward instinctively.

“Just _what_ ,” Alexis asks, all waggling eyebrows and shimmying shoulders, “is going on with _the two of you_?”

Twyla accepts Alexis’ intrusion serenely, a passive sort of fondness in her expression. “Oh, just - ”

“I mean,” Alexis says, pressing a hand against her heart, “I thought we were _besties_ , Twy! How could you not tell me that you and Stevie had a cute lil’ romance going on?”

“There’s no - ” Stevie scowls. “No _cute little romance._ ”

“Stevie,” Alexis says, her expression melting into something so sincere that it troubles Stevie even more than her zealousness. “I’m, like, _super_ happy for you! I just wish I’d been looped in.” She pokes her lower lip out dramatically.

“Stevie and I aren’t - ” Twyla purses her lips a bit, thinking, and settles on, “Dating. I was just offering to - ”

“Twyla,” Stevie interjects, shaking her head.

Alexis is nodding sagely. “To help her relax.” She makes a gesture with one of her hands that Stevie imagines Ted is to blame for.

“ _No_ ,” Stevie grits out, wishing momentarily that she’d never agreed to play Sally Bowles, that she was at home with a good book and a joint. “Twyla was just going to help me feel - I mean, help me get more comfortable, with the whole… kissing-on-stage thing.”

“Oh,” Alexis says, doing some more sage nodding. “Totally. What a good idea, Twy!” She slings an arm around Twyla’s shoulders, and tugs her closer in a half-hug. “You’re seriously the sweetest friend.”

Twyla tips her head very slightly to avoid having her cheek pressed right against Alexis’ chest. There’s a pink tinge to her skin beneath her freckles. “Thank you, Alexis.”

“Mmhm.” Alexis squeezes her, releases her, and announces, “I’ll be your audience!” as she jogs over to one of her abandoned chairs and pulls it closer to them.

“What?” Stevie asks. She throws Twyla a panicked look. “No, this is - the point is to - ”

“The point is to get comfortable kissing in front of an audience,” Alexis cuts in, sitting down and crossing her legs. “And here I am, an audience!” She leans forward, dropping her voice confidentially. “And believe me, Stevie, I am _not_ going to judge. I’ve been on the receiving end of some, like, _very_ unfortunate kisses.”

Stevie looks back and forth between them, flustered by the turn the evening has taken. Twyla offers a tiny shrug of her shoulders, and Alexis just stares at them expectantly, her eyebrows high on her forehead.

Twyla moves closer, the toes of her sneakers nearly touching the toes of Stevie’s, and rests her hand briefly against Stevie’s forearm. “She kind of has a point. And don’t worry, okay? You’re _not_ an unfortunate kisser.” She glances at Alexis. “And we’re all friends.”

“ _Friends_ is a very strong word,” Stevie grumbles, but she shakes her shoulders, trying to get rid of some of the tension knotted in them.

“But not inaccurate, right?” Twyla asks, with a sweet, teasing smile on her lips, and then those lips are on Stevie’s, a gentle press, the taste of strawberry lip balm just barely discernible.

Stevie feels herself stiffen, all too aware of the weight of Alexis’ gaze, but Twyla’s hand comes up to rest against the side of her neck, fingers just a little cool, thumb running along the line of Stevie’s throat, and it’s like - it’s like it’s always been with Twyla, easy and uncomplicated and relaxed. She kisses Twyla back, remembering just how _nice_ it can be, the softness of Twyla’s lips, the way their mouths find an old, well-tread rhythm of movement together. Before she knows it, her hand is on Twyla’s hip, fingers gently curled around the material of Twyla’s cardigan, and she can feel the way Twyla’s melting into her, mouth open and tongue brushing Stevie’s.

 _That_ startles Stevie back into reality, and she breaks the kiss, pulling away but leaving her hand on Twyla’s hip. Twyla’s lashes flutter as she opens her eyes, and she gives Stevie this slow smile that Stevie’s forgotten, until now, is capable of making her stomach tighten with want.

“That was really good,” Alexis says. She's standing now, closer to them, and she sounds almost like she does when she comes into the motel lobby after a run, her voice with an airy quality from breathlessness - or maybe Stevie’s imagining that, because when she speaks again, Alexis sounds normal. “I think there’s the _teeniest_ bit of room for improvement?” She holds up a hand, her forefinger and thumb a centimeter apart. “Like, my mom keeps yelling at you about _desire_ , right?”

Alexis’ imitation of her mother’s inflection helps Stevie’s heart, racing with nerves, slow down the slightest bit. “Right,” she says.

“Okay, well, you still look just a lil’ bit like you don’t totally _want_ to be kissing Twyla? And I know,” she adds quickly, heading off Stevie’s protest, “that it’s because I’m here - like, who wouldn’t want to kiss Twy, right?” She looks at Twyla and drops both eyelids in an attempt at a wink. “But that’s the whole point, Stevie! You don’t love kissing someone in front of an audience, and that’s fine, but you have to pretend the audience isn’t there.”

She takes a deep breath, considering Stevie and Twyla critically, and then bobs her head in a decisive nod. “Let’s do this - I’ll kiss Twyla, like all I want to do in the whole world is kiss Twyla, and like there’s nobody else in the room, and you can see how it looks.”

“I - ” Twyla sort of trips backward, and Stevie’s hand drops from her hip; she pulls the sleeves of her shirt down over her hand, digging her nails lightly into the fabric. “I’m not sure - ” Twyla’s eyes have gone so wide that it’s just this side of comical.

“Babe,” Alexis says, all seriousness. “This is for Stevie.”

“Is it?” Stevie can’t help but ask wryly, but she feels bad about it almost instantly when she sees panic, curiosity, and disquiet flash across Twyla’s face in quick succession. She can’t take apart the pieces of Twyla’s expression well enough to understand them, but she adds, somewhat guiltily, “I mean. I don’t think - ”

“Shh,” Alexis says. She’s looking at Twyla, but she extends a hand and presses two fingertips firmly against Stevie’s mouth. The gesture is so unexpected that Stevie stays frozen for several seconds before batting Alexis’ hand away.

“Just like you kissed Stevie,” Alexis tells Twyla softly, resting a hand on Twyla’s shoulder and then running it down her arm, eventually taking hold of Twyla’s hand with her own. “Yeah?”

Twyla wets her lips with her tongue and nods. “Yeah,” she murmurs.

Alexis smiles at Twyla - a small smile, kind and steady, that Stevie’s not sure she’s ever actually seen from Alexis before - and then dips her head down and captures Twyla’s mouth in a kiss.

Twyla presses up onto her toes as she returns the kiss, a hand resting against Alexis’ shoulder for balance. Stevie watches as Alexis slides an arm easily around Twyla, presses a hand into the small of Twyla’s back. She watches as their mouths part, just barely, before finding their way together again in a kiss that lingers and deepens. She watches Alexis’ tongue slip, slow and sensuous, into Twyla’s mouth, and feels a flare of something that might be jealousy followed quickly by a pulse of arousal - in her throat, under her rib cage, between her legs.

Alexis bends her knees a little, so that Twyla can drop her heels back onto the ground, and only then does she break the kiss, murmuring, appreciatively, “Just like that.” She runs a finger along the freckled bridge of Twyla’s nose, more of a caress than a boop. Her other arm still securely around Twyla’s waist, she looks at Stevie and says, “D’you get what I mean now?”

Stevie’s mouth is so dry that, for a moment, she can’t formulate any words. She looks at Twyla and finds that Twyla’s still looking at Alexis, the directions of their gazes drawing an invisible triangle between their bodies. Twyla’s a little starry-eyed, such stark-naked longing on her face that it makes Stevie’s stomach clench. She can’t begin to guess if she’s feeling envy or self-reproach or lust or something else entirely, but she knows with certainty that she’s astonished, the same way she was when Twyla touched her hair coquettishly.

“Earth to Stevie?” Alexis prompts. 

“Yeah,” Stevie says, though she was hardly taking acting notes as she watched them. “I get what you mean.”

“Good!” Alexis chirps, beaming down at Twyla in a way that seems to say _look, we did it!_ “Okay, so do you want to try again with Twy?”

Stevie shifts her focus onto Twyla, scrutinizing her, trying to figure out just how long Twyla’s been harbouring some sort of unspoken feelings for Alexis. “Maybe,” she says, feeling impulsively generous, “you should show me one more time?”

“I thought you got it,” Twyla says, voice just as a touch husky.

Stevie narrows her eyes, still trying and failing to get a read on what’s going on in Twyla’s head. “I did, but - ”

“But you need to feel it,” Alexis says, snapping her fingers like a lightbulb’s just been illuminated. “Of course. You’re a tactile learner.”

“I didn’t say that,” Stevie says, but she can’t fully suppress the amused smirk that’s fighting its way onto her lips.

“Um, babe, you didn’t have to,” Alexis says. She finally releases Twyla, and one long step brings her right in front of Stevie. “It’s kind of obvious.”

Stevie scowls at the thought of anything about her being obvious, and, like Twyla did, raises up onto her toes to kiss Alexis. She puts her hand against Alexis’ jaw, shifting the angle at which their mouths are meeting, and Alexis makes a quiet, pleased sound in her throat, huffing a laugh against Stevie’s lips and slipping a hand into Stevie’s hair, nails scraping gently along Stevie’s scalp. The feeling is delicious, and she pushes her body more firmly against Alexis’, pressing closer. Alexis runs the tip of her tongue along Stevie’s bottom lip, which is _most definitely_ not something Stevie would allow Adam to do on stage, most definitely completely unessential in a choreographed makeout, but it takes Stevie a long moment to remember the reason she’s kissing Alexis.

As she pulls away, Alexis’ fingers comb through her hair, unhurried. A smirk dances on Alexis’ lips, but the dark blue-green of her eyes isn’t quite playful.

“You’re a quick learner, Stevie,” she says.

“Fuck off,” Stevie responds, which just makes Alexis smirk harder.

She gives Stevie a nudge. “Try again with Twyla.” She looks at Twyla for confirmation, asking, “Yeah?”

Stevie watches Twyla’s throat move as she swallows hard. “Yes,” Twyla says. She seems to be making an attempt to appear businesslike. “Of course.” When Alexis gives them both an extra little nudge toward one another, Twyla reaches out, and one of her fingers hooks through one of Stevie’s belt loops.

And this time, Stevie doesn’t think about it, doesn’t give herself space or time for the thought: _okay, now I’m going to kiss Twyla._ She just does it, one hand cupping Twyla’s cheek, Twyla’s hips pressing lightly into hers. Twyla kisses her back eagerly, similarly without reservation. Twyla’s thumb sweeps, just barely, beneath the collar of Stevie’s flannel, but Stevie also feels a thumb rub over her knuckles - which makes her thoughts spin, a whirl of confusion and desire, until she realizes Alexis is holding her hand, stroking her skin.

A small noise, desperate and wanting, escapes from her throat. Twyla moans very softly in return, nibbling on Stevie’s lower lip, and Stevie can feel Alexis pressing closer to them, Alexis’ hot breath against her ear -

Stevie pushes herself back from the cluster of their bodies, breathing hard. Alexis’ hand, suddenly empty, dangles in the air, and Stevie sees that her other hand is tangled in Twyla’s hair. She removes it, slowly, and rubs Twyla’s back briefly. Twyla’s eyes flick from Stevie to Alexis and back again; Stevie can see how she’s trying to determine what comes next.

Alexis ends up being the one to break the thick silence, by saying, simply, “That was super hot.” When Stevie’s eyes fly to meet hers, she adds, “I don’t think you need to worry at all. You’re, like, a totally excellent kisser. Right, Twy?”

Twyla nods, clearing her throat delicately before she says, “Yes. Definitely, yes. Really, um, really good job, Stevie.”

Stevie has absolutely no idea what to say to that, so she ends up with: “Thanks, Twyla. I - yeah. Thank you… both. I think I’m, uh, good, now. With the whole on-stage kissing thing.”

“Mmhm, you are,” Alexis says, blatantly staring at Stevie’s lips for a beat.

“Right,” Stevie mumbles, resisting the urge to touch her mouth self-consciously. Alexis has started petting Twyla’s hair again, looking totally comfortable and gratified. “Well. Yeah.”

“You really feel better about it?” Twyla double-checks. She keeps eyeing Alexis in her peripheral vision, like she doesn’t know what to make of the fact that Alexis is still touching her.

“Yeah,” Stevie says again, and joins Twyla in looking in Alexis’ direction, with the addition of a pointedly raised brow. She meets Twyla’s gaze straight-on, asking with her eyes, _and how are_ you _feeling about all of this?_

Twyla flushes and looks away. “I better get going,” she says. “I open at the café tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” Alexis says brightly. She tucks Twyla’s hair back behind her ear, like that’s a perfectly normal thing for her to do.

“I should go too,” Stevie blurts, realizing with a sudden rush of horror that she might be left alone here with Alexis.

“You know I see you both, like, everyday, right?” Alexis says. “This doesn’t need to be a whole goodbye _thing_.” Nevertheless, she reaches out and rubs Stevie’s upper arm before she says, “I’m gonna go see if Ted’s done giving that nervous great dane a _pup_ talk.”

Stevie snatches up her bag, feeling grateful that she and Twyla live in opposite directions and that Alexis will need to cut diagonally across the street. Twyla does up a few buttons on her cardigan, curses under her breath when she realizes they’re misaligned, and unbuttons to start over again.

Alexis picks up her impractically small bag, thoroughly unbothered by the frazzled energy Stevie’s well-aware both she and Twyla are projecting. “I’m so glad that helped, Stevie!” she says, and smacks Stevie lightly on the ass, like a proud football coach, before doing the same to Twyla. “Love you, babes!” she declares as she strolls out of the town hall.

Stevie gapes after her for a beat, and then chances a look over at Twyla. For a minute, Twyla looks dazed, but then a tiny, incredulous smile forms on her mouth.

Involuntarily, Stevie smiles back.


End file.
